


opportune moments

by spiritscript



Series: balancing acts [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bands, Brotherly Love, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Pre-angst, Tension, atsumu good brother, suna conspiracist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:54:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28016538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritscript/pseuds/spiritscript
Summary: “Wait,” Atsumu says and freezes mid handing Osamu a coffee, “it’s today right?”It only takes those four words to remind him, like a hammer to the head, why he was awake well before his first alarm this morning, and wasn’t in the mood to sleep with Rintarou, and had bought a new shirt last Wednesday and had been more than a little nervous. Not for the actual event itself but because—“Have you told Sunarin yet?”Osamu has things to figure out, Atsumu is a pretty okay brother, and Rintarou wants to make a friend for the ghost in their apartment
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Series: balancing acts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041702
Comments: 10
Kudos: 66
Collections: SunaOsa





	opportune moments

**Author's Note:**

> this can be read independently to the last part!
> 
>  **PLEASE NOTE**  
>  implied future angst and it does pre-empt eventual angst if you want to avoid that! But the angst will also be resolved at the end
> 
> Side Ships:  
> implied Arankita and SakuAtsu
> 
> I just think, Suna 'eat the rich and fuck the government' Rintarou

In the beginning, there was only Osamu. Of this he’s sure. He may have started out as two separate gametes, but when they fused first into the zygote that would become a baby, there was only him. Of this he’s sure. And then, like the Lord said let there be light, Atsumu elbowed him in his yet to be formed stomach and said, _get outta my way Samu._

Thus, one once again became two. 

Osamu is adamant this is the way it occurred, that he is the original and Atsumu is the cheap shitty mitosis created knock off that formed from him. 

Even after they finally saw their birth certificates at the age of twelve, and it noted the baby tagged Atsumu was born first by a mere eight minutes, Osamu continued to vehemently disagree with Atsumu that he, in fact, is the older of the two.

See, they were bald babies. Completely squishy, round-headed, bald babies, so the only way to tell them apart was by clothes. A foolproof plan? Yeah, no. Especially when their father continued to mix them up long after they’d grown hair to part differently, and personalities to act differently, well into middle school in fact and has also admitted, on multiple occasions, that when they still had cheeks like chipmunks and were as bald as eggs, when changing their diapers he'd sometimes turn away for just a moment--an important side note is they were energetic babies too--and when he'd turn back, more often than not, they were no longer in the same positions. It only got worse when they learned to crawl. 

_It was fine though your mother could always tell you apart!_

Yeah, no. See his mother has also admitted to forgetting which baby she put in the blue shirt and which in the red. Sometimes she thought she was sure, and then, sometimes teasingly and sometimes seriously, she'd say, _why is Atsumu wearing an O shirt?_

Sometimes, when she said it teasingly, their father laughed and said, gotcha (probably one of the occasions when he’d turned away for a moment and they’d potentially muddled themselves up) leaving her to panic internally. And other times when she was being completely serious, he'd look down at the twins in his own, but obvious, nervous panic (probably one of the rare occasions when he hadn't turned away for a moment and they hadn't muddled themselves up), and it was her turn to say gotcha when she hadn’t intended to. Either way, more than likely more often than not, at least one, if not both parents, probably turned around in a nervous sweat with silent admonishments that they couldn’t tell their children apart. 

They didn't admit to these screw ups to each other for years. Seventeen to be exact. 

So no, actually Osamu is wrong; in the womb Atsumu, in the same way the Lord said let there be light, elbowed him in his yet to be formed stomach and said, _get outta my way Sumu._ And through this endless cycle of unfortunate events, and misidentified babies, Atsumu became Osamu and Osamu became Atsumu. Even if Atsumu declares that the world works in mysterious ways so they ended up accidentally being returned to their correct names. 

Yeah, no, the world doesn’t work like that. 

That doesn't stop Atsumu from pulling out a side by side photo of said birth certificates every time to try and argue the contrary. This happens a lot considering that picture is and has been his phone lock screen for eight years now. 

The most important thing to take from this is that Atsumu was the unplanned mistake, definitely. It’s the only thing that could make sense. And unfortunately, Osamu no longer has the ability to absorb him, so instead he just has to make sure he makes him regret ever becoming his own autonomous creature, every single day. 

And sometimes, just sometimes, the stars align, the earth tilts, karma says _I got your back_ and the Lord says _let there be some fucking light_ and Osamu manages to screw with Atsumu's life in ways he never expected, one little thing leading to another like how stealing all of his condoms had apparently left him standing awkward in Sakusa Kiyoomi’s bedroom 'about to get it on' only for the mood to be ruined and the sexual conquest to be abandoned by a lack of condoms. 

He read the text a total of five times before almost falling out of his chair in laughter. 

"I go to get coffee and I come back to...?" Rintarou's smiling at him as he says this and places the mugs on his desk, waits for Osamu to open his arms, then crawls into his lap. Thank god he'd bought the expensive, far sturdier, computer chair. 

He can't trust the words to come out unencumbered by laughter so wordlessly holds his phone out to him instead. Rintarou's eyes scan the screen; his eyebrows furrow, then he half smiles-half scowls, then he finally looks at Osamu who only grins and nods in reply. Then it all happens in just three acts. Act I. Rintarou's eyes squint as he begins to laugh. Act II. Osamu begins to laugh too. Act III. There's a loud crack and then a crash and all the breath is knocked out of both of them as they stare at the ceiling. 

The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away and karma's a bitch. 

"This is your fault," Osamu mumbles.

x

Miya Osamu keeps a strict schedule. Well, it’s strict in that he has a routine and it also strictly allows for a lot of flexibility within it. But there are some things that are non-negotiable. Miya Osamu wakes up at the same time every day except for the days Friday to Sunday. Friday because he and Rintarou usually stay up late doing something or other or going somewhere or other because Friday and Saturday nights are preoccupied with going to support Rintarou’s band, The Bad Touch, at the local club, Bassment, and because it’s the weekend and he gets up early every other day of the week.

From Monday to Thursday, his first alarm rings out at 6:30 a.m. because this is when he ‘needs to get up to be in time for the gym before class/for class/just to be on schedule’. But really he doesn’t need to get up until 7:15 a.m. absolute latest. 

These extra forty five minutes are more a charade and fallacy both he and Rintarou entertain for no other reason than, well, their own luxury.

His second alarm rings at 6:45 a.m. This is when Osamu will crack an eye open and heave a sigh and reach for his phone as if to get up, and Rintarou will promptly wrap all appendages around him and squeeze and mumble into whatever part of Osamu’s body his face is pressed against, _five more minutes._ And Osamu will ‘give in’ with a sigh and kiss the top of Rintarou’s head and wrap an arm around him and entangle his own appendages into the sprawling mess that is his boyfriend and sigh, _five more minutes,_ as if they both don’t know he’ll be there for at least another fifteen if not another thirty.

The next will ring at exactly 7:00 a.m. Sometimes this interrupts the staggering rhythm one of them is lazing thrusting into the other interspersed with sloppy kisses. Sometimes it’s more energetic and frantic and the alarm is cursed at and once smashed in an attempt to turn it off. Sometimes they both are awoken, bleary eyed from having drifted off again. 

The final rings at 7:15 a.m. Depending on the day (whether one of them is thrusting into the other lazily or frantically or not) Osamu will finally turn it off for good and get up, or swipe it away while he drinks his coffee and makes them both breakfast. 

This morning he is awake before the first alarm. This isn’t necessarily shocking. It happens. Sometimes people wake up before they’re supposed to, or want to. Today is one of those days, unsurprisingly for Osamu.

When the first alarm turns off, and Rintarou snuggles in close to him and murmurs in his ear, he just stays in place. When the second alarm rings and Rintarou’s hand wanders to the waist of his briefs, he lets out a huff and pulls the hand back up and wraps it around himself.

“Sorry,” he says feigning a yawn, “‘M not feeling it this morning.”

Rintarou pouts up at him from his bare chest and then moves his head to kiss him just above his heart. 

“No sorry,” he mumbles against the skin, “just cuddle,” and Osamu does as he’s told, wrapping his arms around him tighter and nuzzling his face into Rintarou’s hair.

He gets up on the third, and as he does, Rintarou promptly rolls into the spot he just vacated, bringing the blanket around him as he does so, so he’s burrito’d in with only his nose and eyes peeking out above the cover as he mumbles into it “ I feel like tamagoyaki this morning,” and Osamu pulls on a shirt and moves to the kitchen.

Atsumu’s already there when he plods out, hunched over Rintarou’s coffee machine, hair askew and an aura of, _Do Not Interact,_ coating him.

Osamu grins.

“Good night?”

Atsumu’s head whips to glare at him with all the agility and aggression of a just spooked cat protecting its prey.

“You know damn well it wasn’t,” he grumbles as Osamu grins wider.

“Put on some coffee for us would you?”

“No,” his brother and twin and worse half mumbles as he extracts two more mugs from the cupboard. When he does that he throws his eyes to heaven as if ready to beg for ascension, not death—he’s too selfish for that and his soul couldn’t go without his body. Either way there’d be no brain.

“Samu,” he whines like a strangled cat now.

“Breakfast?” because that whine doesn’t deserve a dignified answer.

He nods glumly in response as he begins to continue and Osamu turns on the kettle and begins heating rice, “it’s awful.”

“No,” Osamu tells him, fetching and placing the ingredients on the countertop, “you’re just dramatic.”

“No, Samu,” he shakes his head violently as he begins frothing milk, “it really is awful ‘cause—I don’t think I can even say it.”

Osamu peers over at him from where he’s scrambling eggs in a bowl, “‘Sumu…”

“He’s a supervisor. He’s gonna be my supervisor, I almost slept with and was most definitely naked in front of my future supervisor."

Osamu blinks, bites his tongue because he did share a womb with his brother for nine months and as much as Atsumu says he’s the worst brother in existence, he does know when to bite his tongue, so plays it nonchalant and shrugs, "it's not that bad."

Atsumu disagrees and begins to list every reason why he disagrees and why Osamu is the only problem he has in his life while Osamu just replies with the odd _oh?_ And _is that right?_ As he goes through the motions of food preparation, only half listening to what Atsumu has to say, knowing well he’s going to run himself out very, very soon.

“Wait,” Atsumu says and freezes mid handing Osamu a coffee, “it’s today right?”

It only takes those four words to remind him, like a hammer to the head, why he was awake well before his first alarm this morning, and wasn’t in the mood to sleep with Rintarou, and had bought a new shirt last Wednesday and had been more than a little nervous. Not for the actual event itself but because—

“Have you told Sunarin yet?”

Yeah. That.

Osamu continues the motions, rolling the egg, lifting it slightly, pouring in more of the mixture, letting it cook. Fetches the kettle when it finishes boiling, and watches the miso paste melt beneath the hot stream before adding some chopped vegetables and tofu. Atsumu has gone completely silent beside him. That’s not a good thing. Atsumu talking is not a good thing, but Atsumu not talking is most definitely not and never will be a good thing. It’s definitely a worse thing.

“So, what are your plans to deal with the Sakusa situation?”

“Oh, y’know, flirt shamelessly and disastrously and pretend everything is fine because it’s only awkward if I let it be awkward and I think I have enough lack of tact to make it awkward for other reasons, enough to distract from the fact that I was bent over, completely fucking naked, in his fancy little room at one point.” Atsumu almost sings in full confidence and Osamu doesn’t for a second doubt a single word of it. Atsumu is a filthy liar, but Osamu knows when he’s lying, and this isn’t actually one of them.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Well, you know you can catch more flies with shit than honey and when the road is icy and you start to skid that you should go with it and steer into it? Yeah. that.”

Osamu looks at his brother and blinks once, he’s going to just ignore the first part because that doesn’t even deserve acknowledgement, “remind me never to let you drive my car.”

“Hey asshole, it’s my car too! And that’s what you do, what the hell, maybe you shouldn’t drive!” Atsumu barks as Osamu stirs the soup, “now enough trying to change the topic.” He demands.

Osamu glides the last little tamagoyaki onto the plate, fetches the rice from the microwave that just dinged, and then begins dividing out the food. One and a half portions of rice for Atsumu, because he needs more carbs. The slightly thicker tamagoyaki for Rintarou, because he needs more fats in his diet. A little extra miso and rice for himself because he simply likes food.

“You know,” Atsumu says taking his plate from Osamu and grabbing the tray from the cupboard for Osamu, “silence talks and Sunarin knows that better than anyone.”

x

Sometimes a person is presented with an opportunity. But an opportunity is never so straightforward nor truthful as it originally appears to be. An opportunity is like a bear trap in some ways, like a present being left at your door in other ways. An opportunity means two things; the chance for something new, and a narrowing of options for something that, as soon as the opportunity is accepted, cannot be taken. At every moment in time, a person has over a hundred thousand possibilities that they may choose to act on, or ignore.

For example:

Osamu has the choice, at any moment, to stop and turn back to the apartment.

He doesn’t.

Osamu has the choice, at any moment, to take out his phone and call Rintarou and tell him where he’s going.

He doesn’t.

Osamu has the choice, at any moment, to do any number of things, from spitting on the sidewalk, to buying a coffee, to texting his mum which he hadn’t done in a few days, to continuing walking and hopping on the first train going anywhere and just exist for a time on the musty seats in between his last choice and the next.

Opportunities are restrictions disguised as endless possibilities. They are presents sitting in the wide mouth of a bear trap. Opportunities are dirty, vile twisted things that tell you one thing and show you another and people are gullible fools that want to believe the best in life always, that the world works in mysterious but positive ways, and force themselves to see them only as benevolent gifts from the world, not looking at the razor lined box they’re presented in.

Or maybe Osamu is just scared.

x

"So I'm thinking," he's greeted as he walks into the apartment, Rintarou coming out of the kitchen, a can of diet coke in one hand and a chuupet hanging from his mouth, "that maybe Inumaki’s lonely."

"Oh?" Osamu asks, shrugging off his light jacket and hanging it on the back of the door.

"Yeah so the obvious solution is we murder Atsumu so Inumaki can have a ghost friend."

Osamu laughs and walks over to his boyfriend, kissing his syrupy sweet lips.

"I don't know what my parents would think of that."

Rintarou sighs and plods back into the kitchen, followed by Osamu.

"Good point, your mum's way too nice to put through that," he answers, leaning against the counter beside the stove. "You look nice by the way."

"You said that this morning too."

"Yeah, 'cause you always look nice but I didn't actually look at you," his eyes trail languidly over Osamu's skin and he fights the urge to shiver, "but you look _nice _, nice. Smart even."__

"You say that as if I'm not smart."

He grins ingratiatingly around the chuupet in his mouth, "only when it comes to food." 

Osamu picks up a sponge and tosses it at him weakly before moving to the fridge and extracting what he needs to cook. 

“Shut up,” he pouts, just hard enough that Rintarou gives in, walks over, places a kiss on his cheek and goes back to his place against the counter with a fond, teasing smile.

Friday evenings are ramen evenings; quick and easy food that’s not too filling because Rintarou always has gigs in Bassment on Fridays, and they always pick up some sort of take-away on their way home.

"How'd your presentation go?" Osamu asks, turning on the induction stove and taking a deep breath.

He fucking hates their cooker. He fucking hates induction stoves. They're the stupidest thing ever invented, do not even try to begin to argue with him. There is no heat control, they take forever to heat up and this one only has two rings that work. He didn't want this apartment, based entirely on the fact it only has a fucking induction stove top. But also it's a nice apartment and apparently they’d 'all had to make sacrifices' and ‘it's the easiest route for all of them’ even though Osamu still has to drive to school everyday whereas Rintarou and Atsumu are within walking distance and, most importantly and the crux of the whole matter and the real reason he definitely did not get a fair slice of the proverbial cake, is that he is a culinary student and has to deal with a shitty induction cooker.

“Great actually,” Rintarou replies, a little smug. That’s not true, it’s very smug. Rintarou is a very smug person. He won’t answer or argue unless he knows he’s right, and then he will do so with his nose perched high and a thesaurus balanced on his tongue.

Osamu raises an eyebrow. Because he is also a liar, and a good one. Osamu is surrounded by liars. So it’s actually not true that he doesn’t argue unless he’s right, but more that he won’t argue unless he can convince the other person that he is right. Or just thinks he’s right. Which happens a lot considering some of the crap he believes him. Osamu had learnt, long ago, not to even jokingly bring up government surveillance states and to always cover his laptop webcam.

Rintarou raises an eyebrow, “I can’t believe you’re doubting me. Nah, I looked at some of the summary and got bored but it was a translation, so just talked about the toxicity of the patriarchy and the normalization of a eurocentric and americanised hegemony of beliefs and experiences within popular culture.” He shrugs nonchalantly and finishes the last of his chuupet.

“Without finishing the summary?”

He shrugs again, “it’s an easy topic to talk about. The key is to just say so many words it confuses everyone and they just agree so they don’t sound stupid.”

“You know, you’d be terrifying if you actually worked.”

He smiles and once again pushes himself off the counter to wrap his arms around Osamu, and hook his chin over his shoulder.

“So, about murdering your brother…”

x

Bassment is one of those places that Osamu thinks you’re never really sure you want to be in. Everything is always far too loud and your throat hurts for a minimum of two days after trying to hold even the shortest conversation there, the floor and bar and tables and even the walls are always sticky. And all but one toilet stall in the men’s bathroom is missing a door.

It is utterly disgusting in every sense of the word. But it is also the only place Osamu thinks he can ever be dragged out to on a weekly basis and no, not just because Rintarou’s band, The Bad Touch, plays there twice a week or because it serves as an informal meeting spot for all Inarizaki alumni. Which it does, because their highschool friend Akagi Michinari is also part of it. Maybe seeing Perfect Kita Shinsuke-san, who always insists on wearing a clean pressed shirt almost buttoned to his throat, in the squalor is kind of incredibly funny. His black-tipped, silver hair almost shining like a halo in contrast to the dirt around them. 

There’s just something genuinely enjoyable about the place, despite the terrible pun and repugnant cleanliness of it all.

“Atsumu-kun,” Kita says when he joins them as The Bad Touch ready themselves to start, the music over the speakers beginning to dim, “what’s this I hear about not only trying to practise unsafe sex, but investing all your money in a pyramid scheme?”

Atsumu is not one to often look long suffering, no that’s usually the job of the people around him when he’s opened his mouth one too many times, or drags something long past the point of it being funny. Yet, he is shown in this moment to be well capable of such an expression as he shuts his eyes, drags in a deep breath, and lets it out slowly, his hand tightening ever so slightly around his glass of water.

>“I am going to murder your boyfriend, ‘Samu,” he squeezes out slowly.

“No need,” Osamu replies, eyes flicking to where Kuroo Tetsurou has begun speaking into the microphone on stage, “I was the one that spread that rumour.” He dodges Atsumu’s fist that was aimed at his arm. 

“But really Atsumu,” Kita begins as Ginjima joins their small group and the band begins to play, “you really do need to be careful about practicing safe sex.”

Ginjima falters in his greetings and turns to Aran as if he’s going to get any answers there. “Drink?” he asks, “drink,” he answers himself and makes to head back to the bar and Atsumu whines a long, slow _Kiiiittaaaaaa-ssaaaaannnn._

“You want anything?” Aran asks Kita, who shakes his head before following.

“‘Samu had his study abroad interview!” Atsumu perks up, dragging Osamu back around from where he had been watching the stage. Dammit.

“Oh yes,” Kita replies and his large golden eyes settle on Osamu, making him feel itchy, “how did it go?”

“Well.” He begins, “I think…” he falters, “I mean, it’s hard to know. There were a lot of people there.”

Both of them watch him for a moment, but Osamu refuses to meet their eyes, instead focusing once again on the small stage.

“You still haven’t told him?” Atsumu asks and turns to also watch it; Akagi banging his head while Yaku nearly jumps out of his seat behind the drumset. Rintarou doesn’t look like it, but he’s the mastermind behind all of this. It surprises people when they first meet him and learn he’s a ‘musical genius’ as many have dubbed him. But the truth is he’s worked hard for where he is. Incredibly so, in so many ways. Harder than he ever wanted to, in others.

Osamu watches him now, hair falling gently over his face, an old second hand bass that was all he could afford, slung low on his body because he likes the way it looks. Rintarou watches his own fingers pluck at the strings without necessity. Osamu has watched him sprawled with his head hanging over the end of the bed, eyes closed, plucking at the notes easily. Holding a conversation as the tune travels from his fingers through the strings, down the long cable to the even more beat up amp, and thrumming through the carpet on their bedroom floor. He really is incredible, even as he hangs to the edge of the stage, almost in the shadows. The bass line begins to pick up and Osamu can feel it vibrate through the air and his boyfriend's mouth twitches into a small smile, it vibrates and penetrates through his skin, almost like a second heartbeat.

“I won’t know if I’ve got it for a few more weeks. There’s no point in causing any problems when there may be nothing to worry about.” Osamu replies, his eyes still fixed on Rintarou as his head bobs gently. Trying with all his might to hide, but never being clearer.

x

__Osamu blinks groggily, eyelids heavy, almost sticking together with sleep and he feels the mattress shift as Rintarou rolls over and throws and arm around Osamu’s stomach, a soft sigh escaping his lips, and Osamu cuts off the sound of his first alarm. As he swipes at the screen, the small notification light flashes lazily._ _

__His stomach tightens and it has nothing to do with the weight of his boyfriend._ _

__Reaching out slowly, he squints at the bright light of the screen in the dark room. He has a number of notifications; Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, LINE, an email._ _

__He taps on the screen and unlocks it with his fingerprint despite Rintarou’s assertions that fingerprint locks are just a way for people to willingly give this precious information to the government to store. Willful subservience, he called it, people will build their own cages in the form of having luxury._ _

__“Everything okay?” Rintarou mumbles._ _

__“Yeah,” Osamu replies, locking his phone and placing it face down on the cabinet again, “everything’s fine.”_ _

x

__**From:** Study Abroad Program  
**To:** Miya Osamu_ _

__**Subject:** Application to study abroad_ _

__Dear Miya-san,_ _

__We are pleased to inform you that your application to study abroad for your third semester has been accepted._ _

[read more]

____

x

__An opportunity is a gate, one that opens up a space before you and simultaneously slides back into a new place; one that closes all ones behind and around you._ _

__But Osamu still has time to figure this out._ _

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ohmiyamy) if you wanna say hi!
> 
> I've tagged this in the main series and in it's own so it's easier to find as the series as a whole is multiship
> 
> Thanks to Hannah ([ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarins/pseuds/lunarins) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/hanoorins)) for beta-ing and just being awesome in general (please check her stuff out)


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